Beach Thriller(70)
How sad that she took his observation as a major compliment. She really needed to get out more.
“It’s just something I stumbled across,” she said, hopping down from the table. “Thanks again for fitting me in—I really appreciate it.”
* * *
Holly returned home to find Ethan replacing the hinges on the screen door off the porch. Funny—she didn’t remember that being on the to-do list.
“The door was really loud, so I took the liberty of getting you a new set of hinges. It’s a supercheap fix, so don’t even worry about it.” He stood tall, smiling, moving the door back and forth several times to demonstrate how quietly it opened and closed. “Keep it locked, though,” he said, “because now someone could get in without you hearing them.”
Holly nodded. She half expected her headache to get worse when their eyes met, but no—she wasn’t feeling any additional pain, probably because she had taken two high-potency ibuprofen. She hadn’t bothered filling the codeine prescription; she didn’t want addiction to accompany her writer’s block.
Ethan began packing up his tools. The sun was getting low, and she figured he’d had a long day as well.
She considered confronting him about his relationship with Conrad but didn’t want to put Ethan on the defensive. She opted for a softer approach.
“Any chance you have time for a cup of tea or lemonade before you go? I wish I had beer to offer you, but I’m not much of a drinker.”
The corners of Ethan’s mouth lifted into a smile. “At my age, I can get a hangover just looking at a bottle of beer.” He chuckled. “Lemonade sounds great.”
Holly poked her head into the refrigerator, emerging a moment later with a grimace. “What about a nice tall glass of ice water?” she offered sheepishly. “I forgot I have a roommate with a sweet tooth. Jade drank all the lemonade.”
“Water would be fine,” said Ethan.
They sat down at her rickety old kitchen table with two mismatched glasses between them.
“So, what’s happening in your writing world these days?” Ethan asked, looking at her with an intensity that made Holly feel shy.
But Holly reminded herself this wasn’t just a friendly chat. She was on a mission to try to get some facts—without spilling the whole can of her sad, sorry beans. The last thing she wanted was to burst into tears talking about Anna. Next, Ethan would be consoling her, and then he’d have his arms around her, and then …
Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea after all. But no. It was far too much—too personal. Keep it vague, just enough to tease out Handsome Handy.
Holly sighed in frustration. “I’ve been trying to work on a new book, but it’s not going great. Honestly, I’m a little stuck.” A little stuck, as in I may need the Jaws of Life to extract me.
“Guess I’m lucky,” Ethan said. “I don’t get a handyman block.”
She found his cute comment endearing. God, I’d make the worst spy ever.
“Writer’s block is just an excuse for not writing, and if plumbers and such tried the same line, they’d quickly go out of business.”
“You make a fair point, but I’m not starting from a blank page. How do you get over something like that?” he asked.
Holly shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ve never had it this bad before. Pathetically, I’ve resorted to reading a self-help book about a Zen cat.”
Ethan brightened. “You’re reading Meow Mindfulness?”
“Oh no, not you, too.” Holly narrowed her eyes. She kept talking, hoping to stop him from listing all the reasons he loved the book, which Holly would immediately interpret as flaws in her own writing.
“I’m trying a different genre this time,” she said. “It’s a little more rooted in nonfiction, but still dramatized.” This was as much as she could share without being too revealing. Holly’s mind screamed at her: That’s not how you do intimacy. You tell the whole, unvarnished truth. But the pattern was set: If she didn’t pick an unavailable man, she became the unavailable one. Her subconscious sabotaged every chance it got, never believing she was worthy of love. Guilt was like a cancer that way. It spread throughout her life, attacking in unexpected ways.
“Your new direction sounds intriguing,” Ethan said. “Can you tell me more, or is it top secret until the book comes out? I have no idea how these things work.”
Holly laughed. “It’s not as exciting as it might seem. Most of this job is grunt work. We live by the axiom: Writing is rewriting, and a little research when necessary. That’s actually where I’m stuck. I need more information about a crime—or a possible crime—that happened in Beauport almost twenty years ago.”
Ethan’s body visibly tensed. “Here? There’s hardly any crime in this town.”
“I know. This was highly unusual. Someone died in a suspicious fire.” Someone like my sister, but Holly didn’t need to say that because the look in Ethan’s eyes told her he already knew. But why hadn’t he said anything to her about it before, and why not say anything right now when the door was wide open?
The answer came as quickly as the question arose. She hadn’t invited him inside her inner world. She gave off so many signals for Ethan not to pry that he would naturally respect her boundaries.